The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children

Lord J. And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?

Rory. Phoo! don't be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my lard) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (Turns to Talbot.) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoarse? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice – (sucks an orange). I am a thoroughgoing friend, at any rate.

Talb. Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and a thoroughgoing friend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violent thoroughgoing work.

Rory. Never fear! never fear, man! – a warm frind and a bitter enemy, that's my maxim.

Talb. Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.

Rory. Oh, never fear me! I'm as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst they tink I'm tinking of nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as – now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if you plase.

Talb. I do please.

Rory. I call it Rory's song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody – o' the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put 'em in or lave 'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts, wise-a-wee to you, my little frind. So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations.

Talbot and Lord John. Let's have it; let's have it without further preface.

Rory sings

I'm true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.

Rory. There's a stroke, in the first place, for Wheeler, – you take it?

Talb. Oh yes, yes, we take it; go on.

Rory sings

I'm true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.
Of all birds, beasts, or fishes, that swim in the sea,
Webb'd or finn'd, black or white, man or child, Whig or Tory,
None but Talbot, O Talbot's the dog for Rory.

Talb. 'Talbot the dog' is much obliged to you.

Lord J. But if I have any ear, one of your lines is a foot too long, Mr. O'Ryan.

Rory. Phoo, put the best foot foremost for a frind. Slur it in the singing, and don't be quarrelling, anyhow, for a foot more or less. The more feet the better it will stand, you know. Only let me go on, and you'll come to something that will plase you.

Rory sings

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm.

Rory. That's Bursal, mind now, whom I mean to allude to in this verse.

Lord J. If the allusion's good, we shall probably find out your meaning.

Talb. On with you, Rory, and don't read us notes on a song.

Lord J. Go on, and let us hear what you say of Bursal.

Rory sings

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm;
His father's a tanner, – but then where's the harm?
Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee,
Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?

Lord J. Encore! encore! Why, Rory, I did not think you could make so good a song.

Rory. Sure 'twas none of I made it – 'twas Talbot here.

Talb. I!

Rory (aside). Not a word: I'll make you a present of it: sure, then, it's your own.

Talb. I never wrote a word of it.

Rory (to Lord J.) Phoo, phoo! he's only denying it out of false modesty.

Lord J. Well, no matter who wrote it, – sing it again.

Rory. Be easy; so I will, and as many more verses as you will to the back of it. (Winking at Talbot aside.) You shall have the credit of all. (Aloud.) Put me in when I'm out, Talbot, and you (to Lord John) join – join.

Rory sings, and Lord John sings with him

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm;
His father's a tanner, – but then where's the harm?
Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee,
Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?
There's my lord with the back that never was bent —

    (Lord John stops singing; Talbot makes signs to Rory to stop; but Rory does not see him, and sings on.)
There's my lord with the back that never was bent;
Let him live with his ancestors, I am content.

    (Rory pushes Lord J. and Talbot with his elbows.)
Rory. Join, join, both of ye – why don't you join? (Sings.)

Who'll buy my Lord John? the arch fishwoman cried,
A nice oyster shut up in a choice shell of pride.

Rory. But join or ye spoil all.

Talb. You have spoiled all, indeed.

Lord J. (making a formal low bow). Mr. Talbot, Lord John thanks you.

Rory. Lord John! blood and thunder! I forgot you were by – quite and clean.